


Cosmic Significance or an Amazing Coincidence

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Back to the Future (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, Humor, Time Travel, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-04-07
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find themselves trapped in 2015 with no way home. Will they be able to hitch a ride from a passing DeLorean?<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cosmic Significance or an Amazing Coincidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkfinity (heidi)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidi/gifts).



"But… why 2015?" Sam asks blankly, staring at the newspaper in his hands for another moment before dropping it carelessly to the ground. "I mean… five years into the future? Really? You'd think a spell that translates to 'The Great and Devastating Curse of Time' would drop us somewhere a little more dramatic."

"You were expecting dinosaurs?" Dean asks, peering around the corner of a brick building. "Or maybe warp drives?"

"I don't really know _what_ I was expecting," Sam admits, leaning even further out to peer over Dean's shoulder at the tackiest, most technicolor town square he's ever seen. "But it sure as hell wasn't the year 2015 looking like something out of the eighties."

"I think this will go faster if we split up," says Dean. "See what they've got for libraries around here. That building across the way looks like a likely candidate."

"The one with the clock tower?"

"Yup, that's the one."

"I don't like it," says Sam.

"It's just a clock tower."

"No, I mean splitting up. It's a bad idea."

"It'll just be for a few hours," says Dean.

Which doesn't really make Sam feel any better, but he also doesn't have a good argument against it. There's no apparent danger here, and the faster they get back the better. They sort of left in the middle of a hunt, what with accidentally triggering the curse and all.

"Fine," he finally agrees, trying not to fidget under Dean's expectant stare. "Let's meet back here in three hours." He doubts their cell phones will work, and if they do, using them is probably a bad idea.

Sam gets directions from a stern-looking woman in a multi-colored suit coat. There are three libraries in town, none of which are in the clock tower building (Sam is suddenly glad he let Dean call dibs), and he aims for the second closest, walking the route with purpose.

He stops halfway there, brought up short by the sight of a large, intimidating group of teenagers circling and shoving a shorter boy. The boy looks terrified and harmless, wearing an iridescent baseball cap and an orange jacket with one excessively long sleeve. The sleeve confuses Sam more than the hat does—maybe it's like the inside-out jeans pockets he's been seeing all day. Just a style of the future.

He kind of hopes this isn't so much _the_ future as a possible future. If the bright, gaudy tackiness of this world never comes to be, Sam will consider it a major victory for the human race.

He watches the group of teenagers, wondering if he should interfere, and catches ominous snippets of conversation.

"But Griff, it's _illegal_ ," says the unfortunate boy at the center of the group's focus.

"You let us worry about that," says the tallest, most threatening figure. But his words don't sound remotely reassuring, even from Sam's detached vantage point. Griff mostly sounds manic and dangerous—like a walking, hyperactive promise of imminent violence. "It's the opportunity of a lifetime, McFly. Think about it."

When the intimidating group of teenagers wanders away, Sam feels a stab of pity so sharp that he finds himself continuing forward until he's standing right beside the kid, watching with raised eyebrows while McFly fidgets with his long sleeve as if it's broken or something.

"You okay?" Sam asks, ignoring the warning voice in his head that's telling him not to get involved. ' _There's no timeline to mess up_ ,' Sam tells the voice reasonably. ' _This is the future, not the past_.' Not that Sam knows anything about temporal mechanics besides what he learned from watching Star Trek, so who _knows_ what the real rules are. But the kid looks so lost and pathetic, and Sam knows what it's like—even if his own experiences with bullies were a little different.

"Yeah, sure," says McFly in a voice that's quiet and a little raspy. He gives up on fidgeting with his sleeve in favor of looking up at Sam. "Who are you?"

"Sam," he answers, holding out his hand. "Sam Winchester." Okay, probably not the brightest idea, using his real name, but what harm can one shy kid do?

"Marty McFly Jr.," the kid says, accepting the handshake almost timidly. Christ, this kid is breaking Sam's _heart_ he's so pathetic.

"Those guys give you trouble often?" Sam asks curiously, tucking his hands in his pockets and marveling at just how short this Marty kid is.

"Naw," says Marty. "Just every day." It doesn't sound like sarcasm.

Sam chews on his lip a moment, warring with the question of whether he should just walk away. On the one hand, this is none of his business. It's not his problem, and for all he knows he could actually screw up time itself by getting involved. On the other hand, Sam's never liked standing by and watching someone else get bullied. And bad idea or not, he's pretty sure he has to do something.

"You know," Sam finally says, just as the silence is stretching long enough to be awkward. "I could probably teach you a couple things that would make them easier to deal with."

"Like what?" Marty asks, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Like self defense. Enough to incapacitate someone and run, anyway."

"Really?" Marty asks, stepping closer to Sam even though it leaves him straining his neck even further back to make eye contact.

"Really," says Sam, already wondering if he's going to regret this.

The kid turns out to be a surprisingly quick study. Sam doesn't lose more than an hour teaching him the basics, then running through them on a convenient patch of grass. The kid will never be a pro fighter, but as Marty walks away, his back is already straighter, his shoulders high instead of slouched uncomfortably forward. Sam watches him go and shakes his head, smiling to himself as he resumes his trek toward the library.

He doesn't find anything: not in the physical stacks, and not in the immense electronic filing system. No answers, even on the net. They're going to have to dig deeper to find what they need—maybe even hunt down some of their contacts and see what people know. It's only been five years: there should still be some people who can help.

He's ready to suggest as much when he gets back to Dean, but his brother isn't alone. Dean is talking animatedly at a man Sam has never seen before. The man has a chaotic shock of white hair, and he's wearing a perturbed expression that Dean seems to be ignoring entirely. When Dean catches sight of Sam, he pauses mid-sentence and dashes forward.

"Check it out," he says, gesturing with a tilt of his head. "I found us a mad scientist! He has a time machine!"

"He told you he has a time machine," Sam echoes incredulously.

"No, of course not," says Dean. "I overheard him talking to this other guy. But I think maybe we could convince him to help us."

"Dean, there's no such thing as time machines."

"There's no such thing as ghosts, either."

"Good point." Sam sighs. But the wild-haired man is close enough to overhear now, so Sam drops the argument and turns to muster a friendly, "Hi."

"Sam," Dean says, grinning widely. "Meet Doctor Emmett Brown. Doc, this is my brother, Sam."

"So," says Sam, figuring why _not_ dive right in, since there's no way any of this is true. "My brother says you have a time machine? I don't suppose you could give us a ride back to the year 2010."

Doc Brown blinks at him for a moment, owlish and considering. Sam's just waiting for the moment to break, and for the man to crack a smile and say, ' _Haha, just kidding, I don't really have a time machine_.' Except minutes are ticking by and that answer doesn't seem to be coming.

"Not to be skeptical," the doctor finally says. "But if you're from 2010, how exactly did you get here?"

"You probably wouldn't believe us if we told you," says Sam. "But it was an accident."

"Then how do I know you're really who you say you are? You could be temporal pirates from the twenty-second century, for all I know, or opportunists from _this_ time, hoping to go back five years and alter the very course of history!"

Sam has to admit it's pretty funny that the man went with the time-pirates theory first.

"Here," Dean chimes in, and Sam glances over to see him fishing for his wallet. "Look. We have current driver's licenses." He hands over one of his own and says, "Look at the issue date."

"Great Scott!" Doc Brown exclaims. "You're telling the truth! Quickly, come with me. My time machine is just around the corner."

For reasons he can't quite put his finger on, Sam is starting to suspect the doctor's not crazy after all. It's still beyond strange when they come across a DeLorean parked in an alley, with a white fluffy dog in the front seat and an unconscious girl lying nearby. Sam and Dean exchange curious looks, but both opt to keep their mouths shut.

"As soon as my young compatriot returns, we can depart," says Doc Brown, and before Sam can ask, ' _From where_?', a small-statured figure in bright clothing dashes around the corner and joins them.

"Doc! Doc, you're not going to believe this!" He stops abruptly, and Sam recognizes him instantly, suddenly even more confused than a moment before. It's déjà vu featuring Marty McFly Jr.'s familiar face, along with the multicolored baseball cap and orange jacket—except both sleeves are the same length, and there's nothing remotely timid or hesitant in this kid's manner.

"Who are these people?" the new arrival asks, and Sam blinks in surprise. He's a little more memorable than _that_ , thanks. But there's no recognition in the boy's eyes, and Doc Brown steps forward immediately, a manic curiosity shining on his face.

"Marty, how did it go?"

"It was crazy, Doc! My kid showed up, but get this. He told Griff _no_!"

"Great Scott!" says Doc Brown—Sam gets the feeling he says that a lot. "That turn of events is completely inconceivable! If _you_ didn't alter events, then how did they change?"

But even as the two flail in confusion—Dean looking on with silent curiosity—Sam's brain is already putting the pieces together. Clearly there are two people in this equation: Marty and Marty Jr. Rocket science says that Marty, the one in front of him right now, is the one that doesn't belong. And whatever business he's got mucking around with his own kid's life in the future, Sam apparently interfered with it.

He figures he'll just keep his mouth shut about it, until Doc Brown announces, "We can't leave. If there's some other factor forcing this time out of alignment, we can't simply abandon it here. We _must_ investigate."

"I think it was me," Sam blurts. His head is starting to hurt a little from working it out, but he's reasonably sure he's made sense of the situation. Which doesn't stop the others from looking at him like a mad man, but Sam squares his shoulders and says, "A couple hours ago, I met a guy that looked _exactly_ like you. Same outfit and everything. He was getting picked on, and I might've... said something to him."

"Said something to him?" Marty asks. "Like what?"

"Nothing important," Sam hedges. "Just... a couple tips for dealing with bullies. It didn't seem like a big deal." For a second he thinks they're going to make a thing out of it. Doc Brown is giving him this look, like he's a particularly interesting specimen under an expensive microscope, and Marty mostly just looks confused.

But neither one says anything, so Dean finally pipes up with a loud clap of his hands and a commanding, "Well! I guess we should probably get out of here then, huh?"

"Yes!" the doctor agrees, snapping back to reality so hard Sam is surprised he doesn't get whiplash. "Everyone into the DeLorean!"

It's a tight fit. The back seat is filled with too much complicated equipment to comfortably accommodate people, but somehow the dog, the unconscious girl, and Marty all fit back there, leaving Sam and Dean to cram into the front seat, uncomfortably arranged with Dean in Sam's lap.

"Next stop, 2010!" says the doctor.

"Wait," says Marty, shifting in the seat behind them. "I still gotta know: who _are_ you people?"


End file.
